


I've Lost Myself to You

by twinklukeskywalker



Category: 1776 (1972), 18th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Childbirth, Fluff and Angst, Mentions of Slavery, Multi, Parent-Child Relationship, Period Typical, Pregnancy, Tags will be updated, like its 18th century virginia, the whole package really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 08:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10433523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinklukeskywalker/pseuds/twinklukeskywalker
Summary: "In those melancholy rambles I was his constant companion, a solitary witness to many a violent burst of grief." - Martha "Patsy" JeffersonHow does one deal with losing the love of your life? Thomas Jefferson isn't sure he knows.





	1. Chapter 1

“Papa! Papa!” 

Thomas looked up from his desk to the squeals of his youngest daughter Polly, just managing stand as she flung herself into his arms, her auburn curls bouncing around her head. He lifted her higher to prop her on his hip as he shuffled his papers. 

“What is it darling?” he asked, bending to put the cork in his ink bottle before it was knocked over by an overactive four-year-old. He tried to put her hair to rights, tucking it behind her ear. Polly tried to wiggle away before she answered.

“Patsy says that Mama wants you.”

“And why does Mama want me?” Thomas adopted the light, airy tone he used when talking to his children. He carried Polly towards the door, bouncing her slightly. 

“She says that Mama says that her belly hurts.” 

Thomas felt his stomach drop to his toes, suddenly feeling light-headed. He had to set Polly down. This was early. Too early, even though he knew children almost never came when predicted. His dread must have shown in his face, because Polly’s scrunched up in confusion. 

“Papa? Is it the baby?” She asked in a small voice. 

Thomas sighed. “I think so, darling. Did Patsy tell you anything else?” 

“No Papa. Just to come find you.” She tugged on his breeches, wanting to be picked up again. He obliged her, scooping her into his arms and planting a kiss on her nose. She giggled. 

“Let’s go to Mama,” Thomas said, setting off down the hall with Polly. On the way, although it was not long, Polly recovered her talkativeness, as children are prone to do.

“I want a brother, I think. But another sister would be fun ‘cause me an’ Patsy an’ Mama could teach her to braid an’ we could all be matching.” Polly stopped to consider. “But if I got a brother, me an’ Patsy could teach him how to climb trees an’ all the best hiding places!” 

Thomas felt a pang of sorrow listening to his daughter. He remembered Patsy saying almost the same things when her other siblings had been born. They were all lost, to his and Martha's misery, including a little boy. That was why the girls were so close, because Patsy clung to her little sister. 

They reached the room Martha was in, finding her reclining on the bed thumbing through a book propped on her stomach, her legs folded under her. Patsy was curled into her side, listening intently to the story.

“Mama!” Polly wigged out of Thomas’ arms to run to the bed. “I brought Papa for you!” 

Martha’s face lit up. “Thank you darling!” 

Polly looked extremely pleased with herself. 

“I was tellin’ Papa that I want a brother, but also a sister. I can't decide.”

Martha laughed. “Well what does your sister think?”

Patsy piped up. “I want a sister!” 

Thomas broke into the conversation. “My love, you wanted me?” 

“Yes. Yes I did. Patsy,” Martha said, turning to the nine-year-old. “Could you take your sister out to play?” 

“Yes Mama. Come on Polly.” 

“Mama I want to stay!” Polly complained. “You said your belly hurt. 

“And that's very sweet darling. But I need to talk to your papa for a while, okay?”

“About the baby?”

“Yes about the baby. And if you go with your sister, you can meet the baby really soon.”

The girls squealed in delight, forcing Thomas to crack a smile. He was always happy to see the girls excited about something. Patsy pulled Polly towards the door.

“Bye Mama!” 

“Goodbye Lovelies!” 

The door closed and Thomas took Patsy’s place on the bed. 

“It is the baby then?” he asked. Color drained from Martha’s face. 

“Yes.” she answered, shifting uncomfortably and running a hand over the swell of her stomach. “It started about an hour ago.” 

“An  _ hour? _ ” Thomas felt his voice pitch up and crack. “You have been having pains for an hour and you didn't tell me until now?” 

“Thomas I've had three in that time. I didn't want to disturb you.”

“You could never disturb me.” Thomas mused. “This is our child we are speaking of.”

“My dear, you and I both know how long this can last. It’s nothing now.” 

“I don't think  _ this _ is nothing Martha. You know how…” he trailed off. Martha always had difficulty having children. He remembered their last child, Lucy, where she had been bedridden for weeks after. 

“Yes I do. And I also know that you worry, my dear.” 

“But I don't worry without reason! This is happening too early!” Thomas exclaimed. He felt Martha's small hand over his. 

“Thomas if you’re so worried, you can send for the midwife. But she will tell you exactly the same thing I am. And yes I know it’s early, but it is not as early as it could be.” Martha reached for her book, which lay discarded beside her. “Sit and read with me, love. We can wait together.” 

“But the girls - “ 

“Will be fine, Thomas. They can take care of themselves, and the servants are around. Read with me.” 

Thomas sighed and curled his long limbs around Martha, listening to her sweet, musical voice. He rested his head on her chest, letting her heartbeat lull him to sleep.

 

~~~~~~~

 

Thomas awoke to an empty space beside him. He reached an arm out to feel around, eyes still clouded with sleep. No one was there, but the quilt was still warm. He let himself doze against his pillows, until fingers closed in a vice grip around his hand.

Thomas was immediately awake, sitting up so fast he felt the blood rush from his head. 

Martha had grabbed his hand, and was doubled over as much as she could be. Her face was scrunched up in pain as she took ragged breaths from between clenched teeth.

Thomas blinked the black spots from his vision as Martha’s breathing evened out and she straightened up, releasing his hand.

“I’m sorry my love,” she said, sounding slightly winded and looking guilty. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” Thomas looked affronted.

“You never have to apologize my dear. Especially not when it’s something like this. If you need me, it’s not a bother.” He stretched, feeling his joints pop and crack. “How long was I asleep?” 

“Three hours, just about,” Martha replied, starting to pace the room, a hand resting on the small of her back. Thomas’ eyes widened. 

“Three hours?” Martha nodded the affirmative, still continuing her pacing. Thomas was suddenly aware of the picture they made, with him still reclining against the headboard while his tiny wife paced about the room in obvious discomfort. Obviously, he could do almost nothing about her pain, but he could at least not be draped over the bedclothes like a king. He scrambled to his feet and to her side, wincing only slightly when she took his hand. They walked around the room’s open space together until Martha let out a small groan and stopped to brace herself against the back of an armchair. 

Although he’d been with her through five other children, Thomas never quite knew what to do in these moments. He’d learned that most of the time, it was better to let things run their course and just be a hand to hold. He murmured what he hoped were comforting words to her,  _ breathe, just breathe _ , and glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. He knew that it was important to time these pains, and to see how much time there was between them. It was just about seven minutes. A squeeze to his hand brought him back to earth. Martha drew in a deep breath, seeming to relax slightly. 

“Thomas dear?” she asked. 

“Yes,” he replied. 

“Go fetch the midwife.” Thomas shook his head.

“I’m not leaving you,” he declared. “What kind of husband would I be then? I’ll send a servant to do it.”

Martha rolled her eyes, a smile playing her lips. “You’d be a very fine one, I assure you. And you should go my dear. You need fresh air. I know you don’t function without it. Send the girls in. I promise that we will be here when you return.” Thomas still looked hesitant, until Martha gave a small shove to his stomach. “Go, Thomas. The sooner the better, I think.”

Thomas bent down to press a soft kiss onto the crown of her head. “I’ll be back within the hour,” he said, turning towards the door. “I love you.” 

“And I you,” Martha replied.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

Thomas began to make his way to the stables, looking for a servant to send the children to Martha. He found one of his household staff dusting off a shelf in a hallway. The boy, just about sixteen, immediately stopped what he was doing to bow deeply to him.

“Mr. Jefferson, Sir.”

“Jack, I need you to go and find Rose and have her bring the children to Martha. She asked for them. If my wife needs anything at all, you will see to it.”

“Yes sir. I’ll do it sir.”

Thomas hummed in acknowledgment before continuing on his way. At the barn, he waved off attempts by the servants to saddle his grey stallion Ferdinand, wanting to do it himself this time. Five minutes later saw him swing himself onto the horse and gallop to the main road into town. 

Thomas arrived near the outskirts of Charlottesville roughly a quarter of an hour after he set out, pulling his horse to a walk and giving him a rub on the neck before dismounting. He found a post to tie up his mount and went to find the midwife’s house. Thomas was traditionally distrustful of doctors and the like, but this was one area he was decidedly glad to leave to a professional.

He knocked on the door to a small house at the end of a row, which was opened to reveal a girl, simply dressed, about seventeen, carrying a pile of folded linens.

“Oh Mr. Jefferson. How are you sir?”

“I’m well, thank you Elizabeth. I apologize, I’m not in any position to talk. I need your mother.” 

“Oh of course. I’ll fetch her right away.” Elizabeth turned, setting the linens down on a small table in the foyer before disappearing down the hall. “Mother! Mr. Jefferson needs you.” Soon, a short, comely woman with graying hair appeared in the hall. 

Thomas bent in a bow as she approached. “Mrs. Lewis. A pleasure, as always.”

“You know better than to call me by my surname, boy.” She admonished him, a good-natured smile on her face. “Mary is just fine. I’m sure I know why you are here.” Thomas nodded the affirmative. 

“I’ll get my supplies, and I’ll have Elizabeth saddle the horse. She’ll be accompanying me again.”

“I thank you for this, Mary. Should I wait and accompany you?”

Mary waved him off. “Oh no dear. You get back to your missus as soon as you can. I’ll be along.” She shooed him out the door.

Thomas walked back to where Ferdinand was tied, taking the reins and leading the stallion to a small stream for a drink. He mounted the horse and nudged him into a trot, unwilling to tire him more than needed. Thomas got impatient, however, and soon, Ferdinand was galloping down the road, kicking up dust as he went.

They arrived home, by Thomas’ judgment, around twenty-five minutes later. He left the horse to the servants in the barn and hurried back up to the house, anxious to see Martha. He got to her room to find her pacing still, but also carrying a book, which she was reciting to Patsy and Polly, who were sitting together on the bed. 

Martha noticed him first, followed by the girls, who promptly threw themselves around his legs. 

“Mrs. Lewis should be here very soon,” he told her, trying to extricate himself from his children. It was of no avail, so he made a show of tumbling onto the rug. 

“Ahhhhh. You have vanquished me  _ mes chéries _ !” he lamented, sprawling out dramatically. Polly giggled from her perch on his legs.

“Cherries? Papa we’re not cherries.” 

“It’s French Polly,” Patsy informed her sister. “Right Papa?”

Thomas grinned. “That’s right darling!” He glanced over to Martha, who was looking at them all fondly, her eyes soft. 

“Girls,” she said, “let your father up. Why don’t you go keep a lookout for Mrs. Lewis. I know she’d like to see you both. And she’s bringing Betsy with her.” 

Their faces immediately lit up, and they almost tripped over each other on the way out the door. They both watched them go, until Martha grabbed his hand, almost cracking bone. Thomas yelped, but didn’t dare make a move to pull away. 

“Oh Thomas love I’m sorry,” Martha gasped. She tried to pull her hand away, until he stopped her.

“No no don’t apologize,” he replied, letting her grasp harder. He held Martha to his front until he felt her relax and exhale. 

“There’s been no change for an hour,” she said softly, leaning back into him. Thomas hummed, a deep rumble in his chest. 

“Mrs. Lewis is coming soon darling,” he murmured. No sooner had he said that when there was a soft knock on the door. 

“Martha, my dear, it’s Mary.” 

“Come in!” she called, moving away from Thomas to pace again. Mary opened the door, a sympathetic smile on her face as she carried her satchel over the bedside table. 

“How goes the day soldier?” she asked. It was Martha’s turn to smile, albeit with an exhausted light behind her eyes. 

“It’s been long Mary.” 

“I know my dear, I know. Let’s see what we can do about that shall we? Up on the bed.” She turned to Thomas. “Thomas, out. Elizabeth was commandeered by the little ones, but they should be around.” She pointed towards the door. 

Thomas hurried over to Martha first, bending to press a soft kiss to her forehead, and then to her hand.

“I love you darling,” he murmured. Sh e squeezed his hand. 

  
“And I you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Note: slavery is a small component of this fic, but it is not the main focus, and will mostly be present through small interactions like above. There will be nothing particularly nasty, most of the interactions will be simple and short, but I just wanted to make everyone aware. 
> 
> By this time, midwives were slowly losing ground to doctors, although they were still common. This was mostly because there were not a lot of doctors in America. Plus, back then (and now), Charlottesville was in the middle of bum fuck no where in central Virginia, and Jefferson was distrustful of doctors. 
> 
> This takes place in May 1782. By this time the Jefferson's have had 5 children, and lost 3. Martha has also lost a child (John) from her previous marriage. 
> 
> Some of the minor characters are made up. Also I low key didn't know where to post this so it's in the 1776 tag as well as the others.
> 
> Hit me up on tumblr @slutshame-alexanderhamilton


	2. Chapter 2

Thomas spent the next several hours in close proximity to Martha's room, either inside or just outside the door. No matter how much he protested, Mary always kicked him out within a few minutes of his arrival, insisting that she’d send Elizabeth with any news. As such, he was relegated to a bench he had dragged into the hallway where he sat, waiting for something to happen. Anything. 

The children came and went, supervised by the servants. Thomas had given them instructions to keep them away from the room, unwilling to allow them to hear what was happening. It was unnerving, even for him, and he couldn’t imagine how the girls would react to hearing their mother in such pain.

Time dragged on, the clock opposite his stakeout creeping into late evening as shadows changed their shape around him before vanishing completely. Candles were lit by the servants. Still, nothing. 

A clatter of feet on wooden floors startled Thomas from where he dozed against the wall. Polly rounded the corner, tailed by her sister and a harried-looking servant girl. 

“Mr. Jefferson, Sir. I apologize, Sir. They insisted on seeing you before bed. I’m so sorry Sir.”

Thomas waved her off. “I will take them from here Rose, if you please. Good evening.” He scooped Polly into his arms.

“Good evening Sir.” Rose departed back down the hall. Thomas turned to Patsy and Polly. 

“You young ladies should be getting your beauty rest,” he remarked.

“Papa can you read us a story like Mama does before bed?” Polly asked, snuggling into his shoulder as he carried her to their shared room. 

“My darling, I would love to, but I need to be near your Mama right now.” 

“Because of the baby?” Patsy inquired. 

“Yes. Because of the baby.”

“But Papa we want to see the baby!” Polly complained. “Can we stay with you?”

“Mary Jefferson, you know better than to whine like a kicked pup,” Thomas scolded. Polly shrunk back into him, mumbling an  _ I’m sorry Papa  _ into his shoulder. They reached the girl's’ room, where he deposited his cargo onto the bed. Patsy hopped up next to her sister as Thomas knelt to their eye level. 

“My darlings, I promise that you will meet the baby very soon.” 

“Promise?” Polly said.

Thomas gave them each a peck on the nose before straightening up to leave. 

“I promise. And your Mama does too. Goodnight,  _ mes chéries _ .”

“Goodnight Papa!”

~~~~~~~~

The grandfather clock chimed midnight, the soft bell echoing in the silent hallway. The candle light fell on Thomas, sprawled over the bench with his fingers tapping a frantic rhythm on the mahogany, wincing at every muffled scream from the adjoining room. He found himself humming quietly, a pretty, melodic tune that he remembered Martha tapping out on their piano. The melody had turned after a while, becoming quiet and mournful, the notes drawing out and filling the room with sadness. The only accompaniment was soft sound of the rain on the trees outside. That had been just after their Lucy had passed. 

It was a truly terrible thing, to lose a child, especially a child so young. And he had sat with his darling wife in misery a time too many, her tears staining his shirt as she wailed silently into his chest. It always ended the same. She would exhaust herself and fall asleep in his arms, until they were forced to piece their world back together. 

Lost in his thoughts, Thomas was brought abruptly back to earth by the small cry of an infant. Immediately, he was on his feet, bouncing slightly in anticipation and anxiously wringing his hands. It was a few minutes before the door was opened, during which time the cries were quieted with hushed voices. The door creaked as it was opened. 

“Mr. Jefferson.” It was Elizabeth, eyes glazed over with tiredness. Thomas hurried over to her, 

“How are they?” he asked in a rush. “Is the child okay? I know if children come early-” Elizabeth raised a palm. Thomas abruptly stopped talking.

“The baby is fine Mr. Jefferson. She seems very well, despite being a little early.” 

“She?” 

“Yes sir. I dare say she’s perfect sir, if it's not too bold.” 

“That is great. Fantastic even.” Thomas was beaming tiredly from ear to ear, although his eyes betrayed his worry. “How’s my wife?” 

Elizabeth hesitated for a beat.“She was in a lot of pain, and she’s lost blood, which has made her very weak. Mother could tell you more, I'm sorry.” 

“I need to see her,” Thomas demanded. Elizabeth shook her head. 

“I’m sorry sir. Not yet. We still have-” She was cut off as he pushed past her into the room. 

Mary was standing at the side of the bed, bathing her hands in a small wash basin. She raised her eyes to him as he hurried through the door and sighed, looking resigned to her fate.

“If you are going to stay, you will sit right here and not move an inch. We’re not quite finished.” She gestured to the chair near the headboard. “Betsy, you need to assert yourself dear. You'll need to when you are dealing with anxious young men. Thomas,” she said, “sit down.” He sat. Mary was not a woman to be testy with. 

Martha looked utterly exhausted resting back against her pillows. Tear tracks glistened on her cheeks and sweat had darkened the auburn roots of her hair, sticking it to her forehead. Her face was pale. But her green-gold eyes sparkled with a tired happiness, and her smile was as radiant as ever. She was gazing down at a small bundle cradled in her arms.

“You have a new daughter, Thomas.” Her voice was quiet. Thomas peered into the bundle of blankets. Inside, the babe slept soundly, her tiny features relaxed and soft, with little fists resting by her head. He smiled at Martha, gently kissing her nose.

“She’s beautiful darling. Absolutely beautiful. I can tell she’ll take after her mother.”

Martha scoffed. “Why do you flatter me so, my love? Surely you cannot find me so beautiful now?”

“I flatter you so because you have given me one of the greatest gifts known to mankind. And you doubt my devotion to you, Martha Jefferson.” He rested his hand on the crook of her elbow.

Martha chuckled, until she winced and sucked in a quick breath through her teeth, a hand going to wrap around her stomach. She moaned softly, and her eye scrunched together in pain. 

Mary, who had been resting at Martha’s feet for a time quickly shifted, doing something that Thomas couldn't see, his view obscured by the sheet draped over Martha’s knees. 

“Martha my dear,” she said, “you are going to need to push a very little bit for me, and then it will be over completely.” 

Martha nodded. Thomas turned his head away and closed his eyes. He heard her groan once, then take in a few deep, panting breaths. When he turned back, Mary and Elizabeth were shuffling around, gathering supplies and the spoiled linens. He let them go about their business, paying sole attention to Martha. 

“Can I hold her?” He asked. 

“Yes of course.” Very gently, the babe was transferred into the cradle of Thomas’ arms. The little girl made a small noise as she was shifted but stayed asleep. Thomas felt his heart melt. It was still a wonder to him that he was a part of this tiny person in his arms. 

With the babe in the care of Thomas, Martha began to doze off completely, sinking back into her pillows and . Thomas took her hand in his, content to just sit and admire their new addition, but he too was feeling the pull of sleep. 

Mary, ever the mother hen, took notice and came over, taking the bundle from him before he dropped off completely. The girl was placed in the wooden cot at the foot of the bed, and Mary pulled a blanket over Thomas. 

“We will be in the guest room if there’s a problem, dear,” she said softly. Thomas hummed, barely registering her words as his eyes fluttered and closed.

He fell asleep with Martha’s hand closed in his and smile on his lips. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For real Thomas would probably not have been let into the room so soon after the baby was born, because you know, there's blood everywhere, but for the sake of love, I'm changing it. And I'm sorry for the shorter chapter, but it was just a good time to end it.
> 
> It is historical record that Martha's last pregnancy was her most difficult. She probably suffered from diabetes, which makes pregnancy and birth very dangerous (well, more dangerous than it already is anyway). Some blood loss during childbirth is normal, but as always, if it's excessive then that is not good. I didn't get too descriptive (or I tried not to), but having babies is no picnic and I wasn't about to sugarcoat it. 
> 
> The Lucy that Thomas is thinking about is the child that was born before this one, who died at a year old in 1781. She was the third child that the Jefferson's lost. 
> 
> Mary is quickly becoming my favorite character I'm loving how she's turning out. 
> 
> As always, catch me on tumblr @slutshame-alexanderhamilton, where you can come yell about Abigail Adams with me and my girlfriend.


	3. Chapter 3

Thomas awoke to a soft gray-green light streaming in through the sheer curtains and the sound of rain on trees. The windows were opened, filling the room with the fresh smell that came with summer storms. Otherwise, the room was quiet, save for Martha’s gentle breathing and the soft gurgles of the babe in the cot.

It was then that he really registered that he was, in fact, folded into a chair, and not at all that comfortable. He stood and stretched, his joints cracking, and moved over to the cot to see the baby. To his surprise, she was wide awake, staring inquisitively up at him with big blue eyes and her fist in her mouth. In all honesty, Thomas thought she looked rather bemused. He chuckled to himself, picking her up and cradling her in the crook of his arm. He walked her over near the opened window, pulling the drapes back and looking out.

A thick fog capped the tops of the trees, water droplets shining as they dropped off the emerald green leaves. This kind of morning was commonplace in Virginia summers, and it washed everything in gray. He looked down at the little girl in his arms, who was still intent on discovering her fist.

“You're an odd one Little Bird,” he cooed at her, waving a finger over her face. She abandoned her fist to grab at it instead. “But I thank you for sleeping so long. Your mama needs it.” Thomas knew he would need to wake Martha soon, as this peace and quiet would not last long with a hungry infant.

He turned back to the bed to find that he didn't have too. Martha was watching the pair of them from back against her pillows, her face soft with sleep.

“You're always so sweet with them,” she murmured. Thomas smiled.

“You both have stolen my heart. It’s impossible not to be.” He walked back over to sit in the chair. “She’s a perfect little lady. She slept the whole night through.”

“I’m quite thankful for that,” Martha mused. “I remember Polly. She cried all night for days on end.” She looked over at them both. “Give her here my love. I’m sure she’s getting hungry.”

Thomas held the babe until Martha finished fumbling with the ties on her nightshirt, pulling it to the side to bear her breast. He placed the girl on Martha’s chest, and she was soon nursing happily, nestled in her blankets.

“Little Bird,” Martha mumbled after a few minutes.

“I'm sorry?”

“You called her Little Bird.” Thomas felt his heart sink.

“Yes.”

“You called Lucy Little Bird.”

“Yes.”

A thick, uncomfortable silence fell over them, a silence which was mercifully broken by the arrival of Mary and Elizabeth.

“Good morning my dears.” If Mary noticed anything unusual, she decided to ignore it as she approached the bed.

Martha tried to sit up but winced, grimacing in pain. Thomas placed a hand on her shoulder, rubbing circles with his thumb.

“No,” Mary commanded. “I don’t want you moving for sometime. I’ll not have you damage the sutures.” She turned to Thomas. “Thomas dear, leave us, if you please.”

“With all due respect ma’am, I would rather stay with my wife, if you please.”

“Don’t give me cheek boy,” Mary said, even though she clearly didn’t have the heart to argue with him. “You may stay. But I will not hear a peep from you.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good. Elizabeth, come here.”

Thomas let them go about their business, perfectly happy to sit and lean his head against Martha’s shoulder. This put him at eye level with the babe on her chest who, having decided that she’d had quite enough adventure for one day, had fallen back asleep. He took Martha’s hand in his, bringing it up to press kisses to her fingers.

They stayed that way for several minutes, until Martha dozed off again and Mary and Elizabeth finished their work.

“Thomas dear.” Mary said quietly. He looked up from his place on Martha’s shoulder.

“Elizabeth and I will be going, but we’ll be coming ‘round every other day to check up on you two and the little one.”

“Yes, yes of course.” He stood, picking up the girl as he did so. “I’ll walk you out. It is the least I could do, after you two have done so much for us.”

“That won't be necessary my dear,” she told him. “We can find our own way. But before we do, Betsy has some instructions for you.”

Elizabeth looked slightly wide-eyed at being asked to address him, but she recovered herself, standing straighter to deliver her message.

“We don't want your wife moving for a few days, at least until the sutures are removed. Keep an eye on her color, because she lost blood and that is always dangerous. If you need anything, just send for us.”

Mary looked just the slightest bit smug as Elizabeth finished up. “If she keeps this up she'll be coming all on her own. Goodbye Thomas.” She turned to leave, but stopped as something crossed her mind. She turned back to him. “And think of a name for this little one. Such a beautiful lady needs a beautiful name.”

Thomas gave a huff of laughter. “We shall Mary, we shall. Thank you very much for everything. Good day.”

“Good day Thomas.” They both departed, the door clicking shut behind them. Thomas walked over to the window again, breathing deeply to smell the fresh air. He sighed, staring at the sleeping babe in his arms.

“What shall we name you then, Little Bird?” he said. “Your sisters need to know what to call you.”

Thomas walked her around the room, needing to stretch his legs. His voice rumbled in his chest as he sang under his breath, an old lullaby that he remembered singing to Patsy as a child.

 _Hush-a-by, don’t you cry_  
_Go to sleep my little baby_  
_When you wake, you shall have_  
_All the pretty little horses_

_Dapples and greys, pintos and bays  
All the pretty horses_

The song faded out, leaving only the rain to fill the quiet room. Thomas was loathe to leave the peace and quiet, but he needed to find a servant to fetch Patsy and Polly. Thankfully, one of his house staff, a young man by the name of Isaac, was drawing back the drapes in the hallway.

“Isaac,” he whispered. Isaac looked up, bowing as he did so.

“Good morning Mr. Jefferson, sir.”

“Good morning. I need you to go and fetch my children and bring them here. I know that they were asking all last night. But keep them quiet. I don’t want them to wake the baby.”

“Yes sir. I’ll do it sir.” He bowed and started off down the hall. Thomas turned back to the room, sitting back in the chair at Martha’s bedside. He rested the babe on his shoulder, letting himself doze until there was a soft knock on the door.

“Come in,” he called softly. Isaac opened the door, Patsy and Polly on his heels. Thomas placed a finger to his lips before waving Isaac off and beckoning the girls forward. They approached with wide eyes, clearly in awe of the tiny girl on Thomas’ shoulder.

“Come over here darlings,” he said to them. “Don’t be shy.”

“Why is she so small?” Polly asked. Thomas smiled.

“Because she just is, dear. All new babies are small.”

“Was I ever that small?”

“Oh absolutely. You were even smaller than she is.”

Patsy’s eyes were round with wonder. “What's her name.” She was a little too loud, and the babe shifted in Thomas’ arms.

“Hush Patsy. We don't want to wake her, or Mama. And she doesn’t have a name yet. I need to talk with your Mama first.”

“Papa.” It was Polly.

“Yes darling?”

“Why was Mama screaming so loud?”

Thomas sighed. Of course. Polly was too young to really remember the birth of their last child, and he should have known that the walls would not mask every sound. Still, he was not keen on explaining the details of childbirth to one so young.

“Because it really hurts, darling.” He settled on the simplest explanation. Polly looked slightly alarmed at this, and Thomas quickly backtracked. “But she's all okay now. She's just sleeping.”

Polly still didn't look entirely convinced, but she didn't press the matter any further. Thomas stood up.

“Sit here darlings. Do you want to hold her?”

They nodded furiously, scrambling up onto the chair, squeezing side by side. Thomas place the babe in Patsy’s arms, carefully instructing her how to support her head.

As expected, holding a sleeping baby didn't hold as much store for the girls as it did for Thomas, and he soon sent them off with Rose to the kitchens for breakfast. He declined her offer to fetch him something, instead making his way to his study to retrieve a book and some paper to write his dear sister. He returned to Martha’s room, settling into an armchair by the window.

The rest of the day went slowly, as he was often alone with his thoughts. Martha awoke mostly to deal with the babe, falling back into her stupor after. It wasn't as though he minded. He would never begrudge her rest after her ordeal.

He did rise to get some food that evening, the rumbling in his stomach finally annoying him enough to warrant a response. He returned to find Martha sitting up against the headboard with the babe again at her chest. Thomas did a slight double take, making Martha giggle.

“My Love you act as if you've never seen a nursing infant before.” Her voice was still weak, and her face still held a grayish pallor, but her eyes were considerably brighter than they had been that morning, and she appeared to have managed to move herself.

“It's not that,” he said. “Mrs. Lewis doesn't want you moving.”

Martha shrugged. “She needed feeding, and I couldn't reach her cot from where I was.” Thomas still looked worried, and she sighed. “You coddle me, Thomas. I'm not going to break.”

“I’m not about to let you hurt yourself,” he retorted.

“Thomas, I love you, but you can be as stubborn as an ass when the mood strikes you,” she shot back. He decided then and there to let the matter drop. “I will be fine. It was only a few feet.” She looked Thomas over, before shifting to one side. “My love, you look dead on your feet. Come here.”

Thomas greatfully accepted her offer, toeing off his shoes and stretching out next to her. He produced a red apple from a pocket and offered it to her.

“A peace offering, my darling?”

Martha smirked slightly, pulling her nightshirt to rights and taking it from him. “Accepted.”

They sat in silence, save for the chrunching of the apple, Thomas sleepily curling into her side. He felt her nails carding through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp.

“I love you,” he mumbled into the pillow.

“And I you,”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well chapter 3 is finally here! Featuring a titty whip, mild angst, and Cute Family Moments™. 
> 
> Blood loss makes you dizzy and tired because you aren't getting enough oxygen, so that's why Martha is sleeping so much. And it was probably also aggravated by low blood sugar from her (probable) diabetes (Apples have a lot of sugar, so that's why she's eating one). I don't know when stitches began to be used in like...gynecological ways, but I'm going with it. Jsyk tearing is very common in childbirth, sorry for being graphic but oh well you're hear aren't you?
> 
> I love writing Thomas with babies it's a favorite thing for me. 
> 
> *EDIT*  
> The Lullaby Thomas sings to Lucy is an old American one called All the Pretty Little Horses, which probably was derived from an old slave lullaby. The origin is disputed.
> 
> Next chapter will feature my trademark angst brw. 
> 
> As always, hit me up on tumblr @slutshame-alexanderhamilton
> 
> Enjoy!


	4. Chapter 4

They name her Lucy. Lucy Elizabeth.

It was a difficult conversation to have, a difficult decision to make, but none the less, make it they did. There had been tears, from the both of them. That wound was still raw and open.

That had been three days previous. 

Thomas presently found himself with an arm slung round Martha’s waist as she walked gingerly down the hall, restless after five days spent in a bed. 

“My darling are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked, for what Martha counted as the fifth time. “Mrs. Lewis-” 

“Thomas I couldn't stay another minute in that damn bed. A short walk won't hurt me.” 

Thomas knew she was lying, her face told him that, but he declined to say anything. The idea had dawned on him to carry her out to the balcony adjoining their shared room, but the logical part of his mind had shot that down. He knew how stubborn his wife was. So, here they were, slowly making their way to their room. 

“Thomas.” Martha gripped his hand. 

“Yes dear?” 

“Can we stop for just a moment?” 

“Of course.” They came to a halt near a window. Thomas looked at Martha, who seemed to be convincing herself to continue, her eyes closed in a wince. He could see her jaw clenched, and felt her breathing deep and slow. 

“You’re in pain,” he said. 

“I’m fine Thomas,” she ground out. “I just need to walk.”

“I’ll not have it,” Thomas retorted. “I’ll not see you hurt yourself this way.”

“Thomas I said I’m fine.”

“And I say you’re not. Darling you’re as white as a sheet. You don’t need to prove anything to me.” 

Tears welled in Martha’s eyes, and she slumped against his side. 

“I’m not helpless Thomas. You don't need to coddle me. You have your books and your farm, and you can’t be wasting your time on me.” 

Thomas wrapped his arms around her, planting a kiss to the top of her head as she cried into his chest, feeling the pit in his stomach. 

“Shhhhhh. Shhhhh. I don’t want to hear anything of the sort. You will never be a waste of my time my love.” Martha didn’t answer him, just pressed herself closer. He stroked her hair, letting her calm down before he spoke again. 

“We can try again tomorrow, love. You’ll only exhaust yourself if you continue today, or you’ll damage your sutures. Agreed?” 

Martha nodded, her breath hitching. She let Thomas scoop her into his arms and carry her back to the room, wincing slightly when she was jostled the wrong way. Thomas set her on the bed first, climbing in after. It took some arranging before he was sitting back against the headboard with Martha between his legs, resting on his chest. 

Thomas waited until she was deep asleep before wiggling out from behind her to go and check on preparations for the arrival of his sister. He had written to her the morning after Lucy’s birth to announce the arrival of their new addition, knowing how his sister adored her nieces. She had written back eagerly, expressing her congratulations and informing him that she would be coming to meet her new charge and help his “dear wife” with the baby.

Thomas went to look in on one of the guest rooms, seeing that the servants had already prepared it for Martha. He sighed; three Martha's were going to be in this house at once. Admittedly, it got confusing, although Patsy loathed being called by her given name, and he'd called his sister Mar since they were small, which let him mostly off the hook. 

He left the guest room to return to his office, glancing at the thermometer outside his window as he sat. Holding his quill between his teeth, he rummaged around for his ink bottle to jot down the temperature in his measurement books. He found it just as thunder rumbled, and he looked up to the window, which was flecked with small water droplets. 

Thomas loved the rain. It provided him with background noise for his writing, and it always seemed to calm his nerves.

It was peaceful.

~~~~~~~~~

Martha's stubborn determination found them there again the next day, only this time Thomas managed to convince her to be carried partway. She insisted on walking to the chair outside, however. Thomas obliged her. 

“My love can you go and fetch Lucy?” she asked him after she settled. “I can't bear to leave her alone.” 

“Of course dear,” Thomas replied. He disappeared back into the house, making his way back where they had come. 

Lucy was wide awake when he looked into the cradle, happily entertaining herself with her fingers in her mouth. Thomas smiled, reaching down to pick her up. 

“Good morning _ma cherie_ ,” he cooed at her, tucking her into the crook of his arm. He carried her back to Martha, talking quietly to her about Monticello and all the ways he was thinking of remodeling it. What he said was of course nonsense to Lucy, but he always enjoyed rambling to his babies, and he knew that was how they learned anyway. 

Lucy was falling asleep by the time he placed her in Martha’s arms, but she perked up once he set her down. Martha laughed.

“If you talked of nothing but your architectural schemes to her it's not a wonder that she’s almost asleep,” she said, waving a finger for Lucy to grab. Thomas looked fake-affronted. 

“Why I would do no such thing! I talk to her only about the ideas of Locke and Rousseau, and of Doctor Franklin and Mr. Adams. I was even reading to her some of the Wealth of Nations not a day ago!” He lounged back in his chair, an arm behind his head and the other draped over a thigh, legs wide.

“You despise the Wealth of Nations,” Martha drawled. “And for all your talk of being a gentleman, you sit like a whore.” 

Thomas smirked, a lazy smile on his face. 

“Oh of course I dislike Smith and that infernal book, but you cannot begrudge the man his talents, however misguided they may be. And besides, reading it gives me the chance to know that I am right.” He stretched, morning at the pull of his muscles. “And I've never heard you object to my sitting like a whore.” 

“You are an arrogant bastard, Thomas Jefferson. It's a trait unbecoming of a supposed gentleman.” 

Thomas gasped in pretend shock. “You wound me my love!”

They dissolved into laughter. Thomas felt elated, as he had missed their bantering and flirting. It had been too long. 

A comfortable silence fell over them, apart from Lucy’s small noises and Martha’s mumbling to her. Thomas left for a moment and returned carrying a well worn book he had read near a hundred times, which he delved into immediately. They sat peacefully, surrounded by the heavy air of a distant storm, until the sun brushed the tops of the trees and the sky turned all matter of pinks, purples, and reds.

They were happy. 

~~~~~~~

Thomas gazed warily at the dark gray clouds gathering in the distance. True, he didn't mind rain so much as he minded being soaked to the bone three miles from the house. He sighed. 

“ _C’est la vie_ ,” he told Ferdinand. The stallion ignored him, opting to lip at the leaves on a nearby tree. Thomas jerked at the reins, turning the horse back to the well worn path that rounded the property. He was out inspecting how the fields were getting on, and he still had a good mile to go before he could head back. Praying that the sky didn't open before he was ready, he clicked his tongue, nudging Ferdinand into a trot. 

Alas, his luck did not hold, and the rain started five minutes later. Resigned to his fate, Thomas muttered an apology to Ferdinand and slowed him to a walk, pulling the brim of his hat down over his forehead. 

A pounding of hooves behind him startled him, and he whipped his head around to find Isaac riding up behind him, his horse puffing as it was pulled to a stop. 

“Mr. Jefferson, sir!” 

“What is it Isaac?” answered Thomas, feeling the ugly sting of panic rising. 

“It's your wife, sir. She’s collapsed. Mrs. Carr sent me to come and find you, and then to get the doctor. She bid you hurry, sir.” 

It took all of Thomas’ strength to not immediately break down. He briskly thanked Isaac before pulling Ferdinand about and kicking him into a gallop. 

A strange mixture of tears and rain stung his eyes as he sped towards the house, Ferdinand’s breathing ragged with exertion. Thomas had half a mind to run him right up to the front entrance, but thought better of it, instead veering off to the stables, where he dismounted in a rush and left the servants to deal with the soaked, panting stallion. 

Thomas shed his outerwear in the foyer and hurried to Martha’s room, where he was greeted by his sister. 

“I’ve sent your servant boy for the doctor,” she told him.

“What happened?” he demanded. 

“We were taking a walk around one of your gardens you have here and she collapsed. She looked ever so pale, Thomas. I know the birth was a difficult one, but she should be more recovered by now.” She paused, eyes sweeping over Thomas’ face and noting a minor look of distaste. “I know you dislike doctors Thomas, but you can’t always be a jack-of-all-trades.” 

“No, no. Mar, you’re mistaken,” he said. 

“Am I, Thomas? I know you fancy yourself above the average man on occasion, but you still have an ego.” 

Thomas looked slightly dumbstruck, his mouth opening and closing like a fish before he admitted defeat. “Is she conscious?” he asked. His sister shook her head. He pushed past her into the room. 

Martha was tucked in her bed, looking deathly pale, even against the white of the pillow. A red flush colored her cheekbones, betraying a fever. Her breathing was shallow. 

Thomas felt like the world was breaking around him. He hurried over to Martha’s bedside, collapsing into a chair and grabbing her hand. He felt a frantic pulse against his fingers from her wrist. He felt tears burn his eyes again, and he soon couldn't tell whether the wetness on his face was from his soaked hair which had broken free of his queue or his tears. 

His sister walked over too him, placing her hands on his upper arms, giving a comforting squeeze.

“The doctor will be here soon,” she told him

Thomas almost didn't hear her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, emerging from my swamp with an update at last: Bonjour yall. I've had writers block for like three months and I'm really sorry for the long wait, but I hope to get back to updating a little more regularly
> 
> The Jefferson's child before their last was also called Lucy Elizabeth. 
> 
> I don't know exactly Jefferson's view on Wealth of Nations but I'm not sure he would have been a fan, considering it was one of Hamilton's go to's. Jefferson most likely didn't know Hamilton at this point, but since WoN was published in the early 1770s, he would have known about the book. 
> 
> Jefferson was constantly remodeling Monticello (the house was in fact under construction at this time), so that is helpful to understand what he's talking to Lucy about.
> 
> I loved writing them bantering and just generally being married. It was a nice break from all the angst. 
> 
> As always, hit me up on tumblr @slutshame-alexanderhamilton


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